


A Little Less Conversation

by Alternate_Reality1



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternate_Reality1/pseuds/Alternate_Reality1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little reflection on a rescue puts Scott at odds with himself. A short piece looking at the events of "Tunnels of Time".</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Well here I am again, with a little something that I was inspired to write not long after seeing "Tunnels of Time". It's veered a little from the original idea I was aiming for, but I'm happy with the end result, and I hope it's something you'll enjoy too.
> 
> I would love to send many thanks to my beta reader, ScribeofRED. She has been a rock of support and has helped push me on even when I've doubted myself. So thank you my friend :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Thunderbirds and anything associated with Thunderbirds do not belong to me. I am simply borrowing these characters to tell my story, then I will return them. Thanks for reading.

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A Little Less Conversation

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A deep breath in. Let the morning air fill my lungs.

It’s on days like these I can feel alive, at peace. I can savour life for what it is – watch the sun’s reflection out on the open waves as they rock and lull back and forth in a gentle rhythm. Hear nature’s orchestra perform its melodious symphony. Even the bubbling of the coffee machine tingles the senses with a warm expectant scent that fills the nostrils.

Yes, life here on Tracy Island is always active and beautiful. And I, Scott Tracy...am bored.

It’s official. Fifty-three hours and counting – the longest downtime we have ever experienced. And believe me, I’ve counted every second of it.

I’m very much a man of action, hands on, muscles coiled tight like a spring. I’m always prepped for an emergency call, no matter how perilous or mundane it may seem, because to the caller it means a lot that someone is willing to help them. That someone is out there listening out for their cry for help and is willing to respond can be a very comforting thing.

But I dread when things go quiet, and there's nothing to do. That's when trouble always seems to strike. The perfect analogy would be my two youngest brothers, Gordon and Alan. When they’re up to their usual pranks and mischief I know exactly where they are and how to deal with it. After all, I’ve had years of practise, and usually I just have to follow the shouts and threats to locate where their latest victim is.

But when they are quiet, then I fear the worst. I suddenly become on edge, tense, unsure of what to do in case I'm caught up in something terrible. As though a trap or a prank is lying in wait for me, set ready for me to walk into, unsuspecting and unprepared. That’s exactly the impression my gut is feeding me now.

I know I have nothing to fear from the Terrible Two right now, though. They’re in the pool, taking full advantage of such a lengthy rest period between rescues. From the sounds of it Gordon is winning their game hands down – after all, Alan is a little disadvantaged, not being born with gills and fins like his aquanaut brother.

We like to joke that when Mom was pregnant with Gordon she was sea sick for the whole nine months, but I wonder if there isn’t an element of truth in that. She did suffer from terrible morning sickness with Gords.

I hear their shouts as the game progresses and then I hear a baritone voice join in. Virgil’s picked the worst spot ever to go over Thunderbird Two’s schematics for the latest upgrade. Butch and Sundance know this also – I look over just as a wave of water drenches Virgil. A loud expletive launches from his lips. I stifle a laugh and avert my gaze quickly lest he catches me laughing at his expense.

But it doesn't take long before the boredom returns, and it elicits a hefty sigh. There’s no other way I can answer such an uninvited visitor. It’s pounding on my head, demanding to come in to cause havoc, but I refuse to let it in and get the better of me.

Coffee. That’s what I need, a decent shot of caffeine to stimulate the old grey cells.

One cup of coffee in hand...and still bored. I forgot it takes a little while for the drug to soak into my bloodstream and fill my system. What to do until then...

I spy Alan’s tablet on the table, left after breakfast. Hmm, maybe I could catch up on a little news, scratch my itch for some activity.

Making myself comfortable, I enter his security number – he thinks I don’t know, but using the date of the first moon landing isn't hard to guess – and I unlock the device, navigating my way to the web application and opening up a new page.

World news...ah, here we are. Seems the Global Defence Force is funding research into crop growth, increasing yield in half the time it would normally take. Interesting.

There’s an article underneath about the world land speed record being broken by Sir Gilbert Gerome, with an impressive speed being clocked up at 1,216 miles per hour. That’s not bad. I’m sure if Brains put his gifted genius of a mind to the task, he could build something inside of a week that would blow that toy out of this world. But he’s busy saving lives, as we all are, and he certainly has no interest in that kind of thing. 

Now what’s this...I scroll down to a short article towards the bottom of the page.

'Professor Arrested Over Missing Artefacts'

It’s our old friend, Professor Harold. The guy who nearly got Gordon killed, along with Penny and Parker. Oh yes, I remember him all right. How could I ever forget?

Suddenly I'm hit with a barrage of anger. Memories of him stood in front of a mirror, preparing his eulogy as though they were already dead. 

People are just for a lifetime. History is forever...

There's a sudden clink as my cup drops onto the table, coffee spraying everywhere. By some miracle, it mostly bypasses the tablet, but the same can't be said for my shirt. Damn! Rushing over to the sink to grab the nearest cloth, I try to dab away most of the hot staining liquid, but it's futile.

Coffee one, Scott Tracy zero.

I sigh again. That's all I seem to have done today, spill coffee and sigh. Though I don't want to wish the worst upon anyone, I do really wish for a rescue right now, if only to rescue me from myself.

Now there's a thought that would intrigue any therapist.

Footsteps approach from behind me, snagging my attention. A dripping wet brother grunts at my bemused look, with eyes that spear me with "traitor" when he sees me smirk. Though as soon as he sees the front of my once-sky blue shirt he has to smile back. He's not the only one who appears to have had bad luck. It's a smile-cum-intrigued raised eyebrow expression as he nods to me, but I brush it off with a wave of my hand. Don't ask, Virg.

He peers down at his own clothes, dripping water all over the floor. Grandma isn't going to like that, and he knows it too, so turns and heads away to change. We've all had an in-built radar for avoiding an angry grandmother since we were old enough to talk. I return back to my seat and continue with the news article I was reading.

'Owing to an undisclosed source' – namely, one Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward – 'the professor was arrested at his home, where a number of missing treasures, from recent archaeological recovery sites, were discovered.' Well, well, well, it looks like I was right to distrust the man after all, and not just because he didn't radio for help when the tomb sealed shut, trapping my brother and friends.

But what kind of a human being – if you can indeed call him that – is prepared to allow three people to remain buried in a tomb, to die, all to protect some ancient artefacts? I can't imagine the mind or morals of a man who could kill for something so worthless. Objects worth all the money in the world could never take the place of a human soul.

Someone clears their throat behind me, and it's only then I realise I'm running my hand through my hair. A sure sign of deep contemplation there, and Virgil's picked up on it straight away. He decides to peer over my shoulder and take a look at what's got me worked up. A quick look at Professor Harold's picture, and he's sighing himself. It appears to have become contageous. A bear-like pat on my shoulder tells me I should leave well alone.

How I wish it was that easy, dearest brother. That's me, dweller on all things bad for the longest time known to man. In case you've forgotten, Virgil, I'm a big brother times four, and it's my prerogative to worry. Kind of part of the job contract I was handed when I was three years old. And I didn't hesitate to sign on that particular dotted line. 

Virgil pours himself a cup of coffee, heaps at least three teaspoons of sugar into it – my God, no wonder you have fillings, Virg! – and settles himself down in the seat next to me, ready for another of his counselling sessions. It makes me shift uneasily, knowing I'm not really in the mood to spill my guts about it. Oh emergency claxon, if you can hear me, please sound off now...

My pleas are answered with silence. Great.

Unexpectedly, though, Virgil remains quiet too. Is it a new tactic he's trying? Since when did he think like a psychologist? Mind you, on the subject of me he's considered an expert. Instead, he opens up his own tablet and pretends to continue going through his schematics while casting secret glances in my direction every now and then, hoping I don't notice.

Maybe he's waiting for the caffeine to take effect on me. He knows it's a good substitute for the adrenaline rush that pumps round in my blood when I get stressed. Ha, the irony. Here I am with no rescues to attend or chores to do, and instead of trying to relax, I'm topping myself up with a stimulant. 

Speaking of...I take a sip of said poison and wince as it scolds my tongue and feeds into my system. This time it's a welcome sigh I give. 

'Professor Harold, who currently works at Cambridge University, was previously arrested over allegations of forgery but later released due to lack of evidence.'

Professor Harold. The name tastes more bitter than the coffee I'm sipping. 

Subconsciously I tighten my grip on my cup. Before I realise it, I'm hitting my fist on the table, and this time the spilled coffee finds its target on bare skin. With pure instinct, I drop the cup and draw my hand back, forming a loose fist. It was only a drop, and I hardly felt it, but it's enough to make me react. Memories surface of me doing the same, holding a fist back, getting ready to let it fly into a certain money-hungry cheat and knock him into next week.

But, alas, he's not here, and my muscles lose their tension just as quick as they gained it. I really do need to learn to keep my anger in check. I sigh again – two honey-burnt eyes are checking me over, holding me back again from making another mistake. Talk to him, Scott. Reassure your younger brother that you're not losing it. He shifts forward, takes hold of my hand to tend to the burn, but I shrug him off.

I can't help it, my brothers mean everything to me, and I would face being buried in my own grave in order to ensure their safety. So to hear this crawling little maggot practise his eulogy, as though Gordon, Penny and Parker were dead...it makes my blood run cold. 

It's a pity I actually showed some restraint and allowed him to try and explain himself. I think in secret, Gordon was a little disappointed I hadn't knocked him out, but then again, he had other things on his mind at the time. I think he still does – the mere mention of Penny's name and he's blushing. And Gordon never blushes. Not even when he's caught out on a prank. I wonder, does he have a crush on her?

I so wanted to blast that damn professor's teeth out of his mouth with my fist for stopping us from blasting Gordon out of that tomb. Perhaps not the most upstanding approach, I admit, but a very satisfying one it would have been.

Yeah, not a wise decision, Tracy. Save that good intention when you're on that road to hell. For now, it's ancient history.

People are just for a lifetime. History is forever...

Those very words send a shiver through my body. That Gordon's life could very well have ended in just his twenty-first year, I couldn't even bear it. I feel a dark cloud begin to settle over my thoughts as the severity of it all starts to sink in. 

To lose Dad was to lose the grounding for this family. But to lose Gordon? We'd have lost its vitality.

I think Virgil is seeing those clouds form above me as he shifts on his stool. He's very astute, is my brother. Somehow he's developed a sixth – and perhaps even a seventh – sense that enables him to read my mind. Dad always remarked that we were telepathic, that we had a secret hotline between our minds, and that some of our most in-depth conversations didn't involve uttering a single word to each other. That our energies are on the same wavelength, like a finely tuned radio. Only we never seem to be able to switch off.

I can't look him in the eye right now, though I can tell he's trying to send a message imploring me to talk to him. But where do I start?

Do I start with the fact I still feel guilty for allowing Gordon to go into that temple, to face his demise? I know it's flawed reasoning, and Virgil was correct in saying the same thing would still have happened had it been me in the temple instead, but at least he would have had level-headed Gordon with him rather than the reckless and fretful yours truly. 

But instead of putting me down, and cutting down my authority, he tried to reassure me that Gordon was more than capable of looking out for himself and the others. Something I knew, deep down, but didn't want to openly admit to. I never want to admit to it, if I'm honest. I don't know, somehow I feel if I do, then I'm resigning myself to the fact I'm not needed anymore. But that sounds so egotistical.

The truth is, to me it's the one thing I have to do, I have to prove to Dad. My main focus in life is to watch over my brothers, whether they like it or not, and most of the time they appreciate it. It's the one role I've had the most practise with, that means so much to me – my one true vocation. And without it, I am no longer the Scott everyone knows and loves. I will always find it impossible to switch off the part of me that is labelled "oldest brother".

But while I carry such a responsibility on my shoulders, Virgil remains my many towers of strength, and if it hadn't been for him, my sanity would have buckled under the weight a long time ago – though Gordon would argue otherwise.

Speak of the devil, I catch Virg scanning me over again before turning those saintly eyes back to his tablet. He wants so desperately to reach out to me and help but knows if I don't want it, I'll end up pushing him away – shrugging him off again, as I did with the coffee burn.

Which is also what I did in the tent, much to my chagrin. He pulled me back from an error in judgment. In that moment he was the only anchor keeping my inflated temper grounded and my focus tethered. And he was right – God knows I knew he was right – but without a thought, I pushed him away. Maybe I didn't want to appear weak. Maybe I didn't want to get him involved or placed in danger – keep him behind me, protected, as I always try to do, because in my head he can't handle himself Truth is, though, there was no reasonable excuse.

Maybe that's why he's now reluctant to reach out to me, instead keeping quiet. I haven't actually talked about what happened with him, and no matter how good his psychic abilities are, there are just some things he can't read in my head. I wouldn't blame him, though, for not talking. I always relish any physical contact I share with my brothers, be it a pat on the arm or a full-out, soul-embracing hug. In fact, I could jump in the pool right now and smother Gordon with the biggest bear-like hug I could muster, just for being alive, and just for...well, being him.

The fear of losing him...no, don't even contemplate that, Scott.

I must have a solemn expression on my face as I peer out at the pool, which Virgil is mirroring as he studies me. He knows without me having to admit it, but losing contact with Gordon...

It was like Dad's crash all over again.

The not-knowing of it all, losing both sight and sound of him, wondering if you'll ever see him again.

Without Dad here, I've had no one to offer guidance from one guardian to another, to help me see what only an experienced eye could see. I've not only lost a father but a mentor and friend, both in bad times and good. There's no one here to help me see reason when something goes wrong. No one to share his wonderful wisdom and appreciation that only a parent could show. To rub my back when things get tough, and to say, "It will be all right, Scott. You'll see," or to shake my hand vigorously with a big grin on his face for a job well done. 

No one to smile with pride at his five brave sons, or to guide the way for his five lost sons.

Without Dad, all I have left are my brothers, but the family feels so incomplete. I am all they have now to stand between them and the dangers and evil of this world. It is my duty – to them, and to Dad – to see to it that we are led through whatever Fate tries to drop in our way. Every second of our lives takes us closer to the inevitable, and that scares me the most. Especially in our line of work, where the inevitable could be lying in wait just around the corner.

People are just for a lifetime. History is forever...

Too right people are for a lifetime, and my brothers' lives are worth thousands of times more than that professor's rotten, mangled soul. Had Virgil not been there, I would have been tempted to throw the professor into the temple with his so-called precious treasure and bury him with it. That would show him just how much a lifetime was worth, spending eternity trapped alone, with only your demons and riches to keep you company.

I must be gritting my teeth, judging from the way Virgil shifts uncomfortably on his stool. He puts down his tablet and takes a sip of his coffee. Right now I must be sending his blood pressure higher. 

He's waiting for me to spit out my venomous thoughts. He'll be waiting a long time for me to start talking.

I sigh once again, my favourite pastime. Wiping my hands across my face, I feel like I've aged a decade. I stare down into my coffee cup as though all the answers to the universe can be found there. All this philosophical wrangling in my head is cutting years off my life. Whoever said life would be easy?

Lifetime...

It's just a word. Eight letters that, when placed together, seem to stretch for...well, a lifetime. But it's more than just a word. It's a word destined to carry over a long period of time, yet can be cut short by a lack of specifics. It's a word that gives meaning but explains nothing. A word filled with such hope and promise, yet in the same sentence can shatter such illusions. It can refer to years to come, or seconds that have been.

It also contains the word 'me'. How ironic.

I sigh again – I should start a jar, put a dollar in every time I even think I'm going to sigh – and run a hand through my hair. I've given up trying to stop myself from doing it, even though I see the tiniest of smirks on Virgil's lips. I'll remind him the next time he sticks a paintbrush behind his ear and then forgets where he left it. 

I avoid his eye line, though, in case he's trying to read my thoughts. Not that I could stop him at all.

Undeterred, Virgil lifts my tablet up and has a read through the article for himself. After all, a counsellor isn't any good when they can't find the root cause of their patient's suffering. 

I wish I could control my temper like you do, Virg. I very rarely see you get angry, and when you do, it seems to spike and then disappear in seconds. Me, on the other hand...Well, more often than not, I'm wound up tighter than a coil. Maybe I should start taking some pointers from Virg – start up with the old guitar again, or read, maybe. Or boxing – now there's a sport that can help you de-stress.

Mind you, I tried some kickboxing with Kayo a while back, but she didn't appreciate having to keep replacing her boxing bag after I'd pummelled it to death. She even tried to get me interested in martial arts, but I ended up even more stressed after having my ass kicked several times. It didn't really help, not with my competitive streak. And besides, I don't think it was such a good idea teaching me how to be more dangerous when my temper does flare.

Oh man...I sink my head into my hands, wishing to hide from everyone. I feel like I'm going round in circles. Who needs the Hood in times like this, when I'm my own worst enemy? 

It's then that my attention is snagged by the very slight snigger emitting from beside me. I look up, expecting an apologetic grimace, but instead Virgil's focus remains on the tablet. There's the start of a playful smile tugging on his lips. He knows I'm watching, and waiting, but says nothing. And here's me, in the depths of my own despair, and he's...laughing? One is most certainly not amused.

In an attempt to escape the mockery, I get up to wash my cup, when another more pronounced snigger leaves his lips, and this time I'm determined to know what he finds funny. It's starting to grate on my nerves. My eyebrows knit together, and it's then that he looks up and does a double take as he catches my look of inquisition. But he doesn't back down. Instead, his grin grows wider. 

He shakes his head in disbelief, then crooks an eyebrow as he places the tablet on the table and gestures to the article.

"Rat-faced weasel? Really?"

That's it? That's what he was thinking about? 'Rat-faced weasel'? But he was...

And then it hits me. Rat-faced weasel...

And the more I think about it, the more absurd it sounds. Of all the things I could have come up with, all the names I could have used to describe that...that being– some would make Virgil blush, and he's heard me curse – I chose rat-faced weasel.

That's all he says. And that's all he really needs to say, because the next thing I know a mighty big grin has erupted on my face, which in turn sets him off chuckling, then starts me laughing along with him. Before we know it, we're both caught up in the giddiness, and we're laughing so hard we're crying and holding our sides to ease the pain of the stitches. 

Suddenly there is no Professor Harold. Suddenly there is no fear of the unknown. All there is is a sense that I've been wasting time thinking about someone and something that didn't deserve even one second of my precious time. After all, what has it achieved? 

We hit another fit of giggles, and if the others saw us now, they'd think we'd been in Brains' lab, sniffing the laughing gas. 

But I have to admit, it feels so good to release the tension. Watching my brother beside me laugh with such comfortable ease, I know it's been a good release for him too. 

Yes, doctor, I do believe you have cured your patient.

But in all seriousness, I think he knew, deep down, it's what I needed. Virgil knows I'm not always the best at articulating my feelings, and that I'm not one to be so open about my thoughts and emotions, instead preferring to put up a false front But in this case, all I really needed was a good laugh. 

It doesn't last long before we're wiping our eyes dry and the last few giggles evaporate from our throats. Glancing back at the tablet, I decide enough is enough and close it down. There's enough torment waiting for me to face in the future. Now is the time to enjoy life for a change, enjoy what I've got

So what now? I look at the empty cup in front of me. So much for a caffeine fix. 

I point at Virgil's cup to ask if he wants some more, but he shakes his head to refuse a refill. He's had enough too. He's not as much of a coffee junkie as I am.

It's then that our attention snaps to the pool outside as a scream penetrates the air. Alan jumps into the pool cannonball-style, missing Gordon by inches but flooding the poolside. Then a malicious grin begins to spread across my face as a thought is born. I glance around at Virgil, and he's wearing the same devious expression of revenge. Radio Tracy is back on the air and tuned in to my wavelength.

I nod my head in the direction of the pool, and he eagerly nods back. We both sprint off towards our rooms to change into our shorts, readying ourselves for a few wagers with two mischievous younger brothers. And don't think I'll go easy on Gordon just because of the tunnel incident.

It's at times like this that make me realise that, yes, life is precious, but you can only truly appreciate it if you live it. 

Because a lifetime can never last forever.


End file.
